


My Face Beneath the Streetlamp

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Hive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:51:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6817918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hive is gone, but the nights are still hard for Daisy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Face Beneath the Streetlamp

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentcalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcalliope/gifts).



> prompt called for fitzskimmons h/c after Daisy gets back!
> 
> title from Closer by The Tiny

Daisy pulled up out of her nightmare with a strangled gasp, only to find her face was already wet with the tears she hadn't been able to shed in her dream. Two harsh sobs escaped her before she could stop them, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to deter any more, worried that someone had already heard. For all the outside of the base was built like a fortress, the inner walls sometimes seemed thin as paper. She didn't usually wake Fitz—when he actually slept he slept deeply and without regard for the rest of the world—but Jemma had ears like a hawk. 

Sure enough, not even thirty seconds later, there was a soft knock on her door. Jemma would come in even if she didn't answer, so Daisy rolled to face away from the door, and hoped that Jemma would think she was sleeping. She heard the whisper of hinges, and felt Jemma's concerned gaze on her back. There was a short sigh. 

"If you want me to leave, I will." 

She really didn't want that. She'd wanted Jemma not to hear her at all, to get a full night's sleep and not have to run in and fuss over her for once. But now that Jemma was here she desperately wanted her to stay, no matter how selfish that made her, stay until Daisy felt like she could breathe again, until the image of Jemma's broken body on the ground faded away to nicer things. But she didn't say anything, because opening her mouth would just release the sob she had carefully caught in her throat. 

The door closed, and Daisy for a moment was terrified that Jemma had grown tired of this routine and left, but when she reached out with her senses she could feel the vibrations of Jemma leaning against the inside of the door, and then Jemma was shuffling over in sock-clad feet to crawl into the bed behind her. A hand stroked Daisy's shoulder, and she had to bite her lip to keep from making noise. 

"Nightmare?" 

She gave a sharp nod. 

"Would it help to talk about it?" 

Probably, Daisy thought. But the process of forming the words seemed incomprehensible. Her heart was still beating too fast (May would be disappointed in that), and her chest was clenched along with her hands and if she let any of it go or even took too deep a breath she might crumble to pieces. So she nodded again. 

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." 

Beyond the clawing grip of panic, beyond the hot pumping of blood in her ears, and all the fear and desperation, she felt a rush of affection towards Jemma. It was muted, hiding somewhere behind her solar plexus, but it lowered her defenses a fraction all the same. And then Jemma started running her fingers through Daisy's hair, and she couldn't hold anything in any longer. The tears started anew and her sobs echoed in the small room, each one shaking her whole body with its force. Jemma made soothing little sounds that weren't quite words and scratched her nails over Daisy's scalp, and waited very patiently for Daisy to ride it out.

Which she would have to eventually, right? It felt to Daisy like it might never stop. Like she might just die of dehydration before she stopped crying. Or like she was a child again, tiny and alone, and she’d just cry until she made herself sick. She wasn’t alone, though, she had Jemma, who placed a firm hand between Daisy’s shoulder blades as she gasped for breath, lungs burning. 

“Daisy, sweetheart, you have to slow your breathing down, okay?” 

“I can’t,” Daisy choked, and was distantly pleased with herself she’d managed even that much. 

“Okay, come here,” Jemma said, and then pulled her into a sitting position, shuffling around so that they were front to front. She put one hand flat against Daisy’s stomach. “When I push down you breathe out, and then when I pull back try to meet me. Can you do that?” 

Daisy nodded, still caught in a slow gasp. Jemma pushed against her, and Daisy fought hard to expel the air from her lungs, stuttering on it a few times but managing to let go of it all. Jemma pulled away, just far enough that Daisy could still feel the heat of her palm through her shirt, and Daisy took in a breath and expanded her stomach to chase the retreating hand. 

“That’s it.” Jemma smiled, and then pushed in again, and they went on like this for several long minutes until Daisy was breathing easy and her tears had all but stopped. 

“Thanks,” Daisy mumbled, rubbing the back of her wrist over the wet spots on her cheeks. 

“Don’t mention it.” Jemma dried the remaining tears off of Daisy’s face, and then left her hand there as Daisy leaned into it. “Do you want to talk about it now?” 

Daisy sighed. “I guess.” 

“Was it Hive?” 

She nodded, and Jemma waited for her to elaborate, stroking a thumb back and forth over her cheek. “He made me kill all of you. And for a second when I woke up I thought I’d actually done it.” 

“We’re all fine, Daisy. You didn’t do anything.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked, throat tightening up again, unable to look Jemma in the eye. 

“I would’ve heard you if you’d left your room. And everyone else is in their rooms, sound asleep I assume.” 

“What if you were asleep and you didn’t hear?” 

“I’ve been up.” 

Daisy glanced toward the clock. “It’s three in the morning.” 

Jemma made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t answer. Daisy played with the fabric of Jemma’s pajama pants where it bunched up at the back of her knee, trying to hide the fact that tears were gathering in her eyes again. Jemma leaned down to try and catch her gaze. “Would it help if we went and checked on everyone? Just to be sure?” 

It would help, she knew. She chewed on her lip. “I don’t want to wake anyone up.” 

“We’ll be quiet, come on.” 

Jemma dragged her out of the bed and then linked their fingers together before they went into the hall, which was cold and dimly lit. Most of their team had bedrooms in the same hallway, so the trip wouldn’t take long. They started at the end, at Mack’s room. Daisy eased the door open and stuck her head inside. 

Mack blinked his eyes open blearily, a quiet ‘mmph?’ rumbling through his chest. 

“Sorry, just checking, go back to sleep.” 

He gave an agreeable grumble and rolled over, immediately starting to snore. 

Bobbi’s old room was across the hall, Hunter’s caddied to hers. They skipped both those and paused in front of May’s. The light was on, and if Daisy strained hard she could hear a quiet _scritch, scritch_ , like someone writing. 

“Do you want to knock?” Jemma whispered it, but the noise stopped anyway, and then the door was cracking open to reveal May in red silk pajamas with her hair up in a bun on top of her head. She took in the two girls in front of her and then opened the door a little wider, inclining her head. 

Daisy nibbled her bottom lip, and then shook her head. “Just checking in. You okay?” 

“Yes, I’m fine.” May’s lips twitched in what could’ve grown to be a smile. “Try to get some sleep, I’m still getting you up for training in the morning.” 

“You get some sleep as well,” Jemma said, and then pulled Daisy along to the next door. 

It was Coulson’s, and it was locked. Daisy wasn’t sure when he’d started locking his door at night, only knew that he hadn’t on the Bus. Her hand lingered on the doorknob. 

“What do you want to do?” Jemma asked. 

Daisy closed her eyes and tapped, very lightly, just with her fingernail, on the door. She focused hard on the vibrations that spilled out onto the other side of it, mapping the room just by the subtle echoes of vibration that bounced back to her. She could faintly make out a figure in the bed, and then more clearly when the figure shifted restlessly. 

“He’s in bed,” she said, and then turned to go to the last door, not wanting to bother him when he obviously didn’t want to be bothered. 

Fitz didn’t look up when she poked her head through, but he was awake and sitting up on top of the covers, the bedside lamp switched on. He had earbuds in, listening to something off his phone, and had his red DS in hand. Jemma glanced in as well, and then pushed Daisy through when she saw he was awake. 

Fitz glanced up as the door shut, and took the earbuds out and let them fall onto the bed. “Hey,” he murmured, taking in Daisy’s blotchy face and her hand held tightly in Jemma’s. “Nightmare?” 

“Yes,” Jemma answered, when Daisy just squeezed her hand tighter. 

Fitz set his phone and DS on the nightstand and then held his arms out. “C’mere.” 

Daisy let go of Jemma so she could slump into Fitz’s lap, sniffling as she curled against him, his arms wrapping around her tightly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, and she shrugged, and then she was crying again, though she didn’t think she had any left in her, little gulping sobs that she tried to muffle against his shirt. 

She felt Jemma sit on the bed next to them, rest a hand on her leg. “She dreamt Hive made her kill everyone,” Jemma said, “but we went and checked and everyone is fine and accounted for.” 

“Hey now, that bastard is dead. He’s not gonna be making anyone do anything ever again.” 

“It just-“ Daisy hiccupped, her hands clenching into fists. “It felt so real. I can- I can still feel it.” Her hands flexed and then clenched again. 

“Well whatever you felt, it wasn’t with these hands,” Fitz said, uncurling her fingers, and then brought her hand up to his mouth to blow a loud raspberry into her palm. 

She pulled back, wide-eyed, a surprised laugh spilling out of her despite the tears. 

Fitz grinned. “See now, that’s better.” He ducked forward to blow another one against the side of her neck, and she tried to wriggle away, shaking with laughter, but he held her tightly against him. His fingers danced over her sides and she wiggled harder. Her breath came out in little coughs and gasps around the laughter, but she was grinning widely, tears forgotten. 

“Fitz, I just got her breathing right again,” Jemma complained fondly. 

“I know you hate tickling, Simmons, but try not to be a stick in the mud.” 

“I don’t hate tickling,” she said, in a voice that stated she clearly did hate it, “It’s just not what I would consider fun.” 

“Oh my god,” Daisy gasped, “Uncle, uncle, I give up.” She slumped back against Fitz’s chest as he stopped his assault, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes, quiet laughs still rolling out of her. 

“Well clearly it has its advantages,” Fitz said to Jemma, sticking his tongue out. 

“Whatever.” Jemma rolled her eyes, and then crawled next to them to lay down on the other side of the bed, shifting under the covers with a contended hum. 

“What were you playing, anyway?” Daisy asked, grabbing for a distraction and Fitz’s DS. 

“Pokemon,” he said, and then leaned back against the headboard, watching the screen over her shoulder. 

Daisy shifted to a more comfortable position, sitting between his legs, head resting against his collarbone. His arms stayed circled around her waist. “This is the worst team ever.” 

“Is not.” 

“You have four steel types.” 

“So what?” 

“Steel is like, the worst type.” 

“Poison is the worst type.” 

Daisy made a noise of assent. “Steel is the second worst type. And you’re coming up to a fighting type gym, you’re gonna have your ass handed to you.” 

“I am not. I have _strategies_.” 

Jemma snorted. 

Fitz glared, and then rested his cheek on Daisy’s head. “What are you doing now?”

“I’m gonna catch a pokemon and name it after you. What’s like, the smartest pokemon? I’m going to name that one after Jemma.” 

Jemma smiled, eyes closed. “For Fitz’s you should catch one with big ears.” 

“I don’t- I don’t even have big ears. How is it that you two think you can just crash my room in the middle of the night and then be mean to me, how is that any sort of okay?” 

“It’s not like you’re going to kick us out,” Jemma said, burying her face against the pillow, and then let out a wide yawn. 

“I might.” 

“Try it,” Jemma mumbled. 

Fitz huffed, and hid his face against Daisy’s neck, squeezing her briefly. 

“We’re only mean because we love you,” Daisy said. 

“No, it’s just cause you’re mean.” 

“That too.” 

They fell into silence, the only sounds the soft click of buttons under Daisy’s fingers, and the quiet, murmuring noises Jemma made in sleep. 

“You can stay in here tomorrow night if you think it’ll help,” Fitz eventually said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Thanks,” Daisy replied, at the same volume, “but I don’t want to wake you up if I have another nightmare.” 

“I’d rather you woke me up. You shouldn’t have to deal with it by yourself.” 

“I usually don’t. Jemma always hears me, and she comes in.” 

Fitz hummed, and Daisy felt it vibrate against her back. “She’s good at taking care of people.” 

“So are you.” 

Fitz shook his head, and Daisy turned to look at him. 

“You are. You always make me feel better.” 

He shrugged. “It’s easy with you. And Jemma. It’s not with anybody else.” 

“Well- then you’re good at taking care of us.” 

Fitz didn’t respond, just chewed on his lip, and then after a few moments took the game out of her hand and saved it. “You should try to get some sleep.” 

Daisy tugged on her fingers. “I don’t want to.” 

“If you start having a nightmare we’ll both be here to wake you up.” 

“Okay.” 

Daisy shifted away from him so they could both get under the covers and lay down, her back against Jemma’s front (who’d grabbed Daisy’s shirt but hadn’t woken), and Fitz, to her surprise, facing her. He smiled at her sleepily, his eyes blinking slow and staying closed longer each time, and she smiled back, taking a chance and lacing her fingers with his where they rested between them. He didn’t pull away. 

“What do you dream about?” she asked. 

“Good dreams or bad dreams?”

“Good dreams.” 

“Monkeys,” he mumbled, clearly almost asleep already, “monkeys in jetpacks.” 

“Monkeys in jetpacks,” she repeated, huffing a laugh. 

“You should try it sometime. Like now.” 

“I’ll do my best.” 

Daisy closed her eyes, and realized that the images from her last dream had in fact gone, or at least were no longer pressed into the backs of her eyelids. A little buzz of anxiety still ran through her, but when she squeezed Fitz’s fingers he squeezed back, and she found that that was enough to hold off the nightmares for another night.

**Author's Note:**

> you know Fitz is the type of horrible person to have a klinklang on his team don't fight me on this


End file.
